Every day I do not write the book.

I have been shopping and hemming and pressing, trying to finish costume designs for a local production of Proof before heading off to the UK. For a low-key production and four person cast, there is a metric FUCKTON of costumes in this show! Poor choice on my part, setting a deadline like this before a big trip.
My house is a disaster.
I haven’t packed.
I don’t own most of the things a person is probably supposed to pack.
I keep myself awake worrying we will be horribly killed and someone will find out about the disgusting cupboard under the sink, the dustballs under the bed. I worry they’ll need to search my luggage and everyone will see just how ragged everything I own seems to be.

Still- other than the odd episode of complete stupid stress, I am just flying. Thrilled. I can’t wait to get away from my everyday life for a couple of weeks. Going to see some much-missed family and friends. Going to various bits of England, going to take my husband to Paris for a few days. It’s a trade- he’s terrified of flying, I’m terrified of tunnels and chunnels- so we’re each taking a hit for the team.

My brain appears to have gone on ahead without me- I’m hoping to take a breath, get a change of perspective. I usually write notebooks-full when I travel. Gonna eat my body weight in fine cheese and jelly babies, and take in the view from the Tour Eiffel. And the Clapham tube stop, haha. Fingers crossed.

3 responses to “Every day I do not write the book.”

Oh my gosh! I hope you have/had/are having so much fun! I’ve been wicked crazy ass busy lately so I just saw this post (I’ve got like… several freelance jobs running right now. I don’t sleep. I just write. And edit. Edit. Write. Read.

Dinosaurs. Wildebeests. Wait. What? What was I saying?).

I love that in this post you talked about weird quirks and anxiety. I mostly love it because that’s exactly what I wrote about in my last blog post before I even knew that you wrote this. BRAIN TWIN.